passed her by.
“Thank you, Mrs. Arledge. I hope it is not an intrusion?”
“Of course not Please don’t think that for a second.” Dulcie turned to Carvell. Charlotte held her breath, then suddenly realized that of course Dulcie had no idea that he was anything more than another grieving friend, simply generous enough to have lent her his home for the occasion. She let out her breath again in a silent thanksgiving.
“Thank you, Mr. Carvell,” Dulcie said with a slight tilting of her head. “Your generous hospitality has made all the difference to me in what could well have been an almost unbearable situation. I assure you I appreciate it more than you can know.”
Carvell’s face flushed deep red and he stood as if transfixed to the spot Charlotte could only dimly guess at the storm of emotions that must rage through him as he faced Arledge’s wife. He opened his mouth to speak, and his voice failed him.
Pitt was standing almost as stiffly himself.
Dulcie waited expectantly.
Surely Carvell would say something before he betrayed himself. Any second the thought must surely enter her mind. It had to be someone. The choice was not wide.
Pitt drew in his breath sharply.
The sound of it seemed to force Carvell back to reality.
“I am glad it is of some service,” he said awkwardly. “It seems such a—a small thing to do. Not enough—not at all enough—”
“I am sure it is a great help,” Charlotte interrupted, unable to bear the tension any longer. “Simply not to have to worry about practicalities, and to be free to leave when one cannot endure company any longer and would prefer solitude, that is a great gift.”
Dulcie looked at her. “How perceptive of you, Mrs. Pitt,” she observed. “Of course you are quite right. Your gift is great, Mr. Carvell. Please do not allow your modesty to belittle it.”
“Thank you—thank you,” he said again, backing away a little. “If you will excuse me, ma’am, I will make sure that Scarborough is ready to serve when it is required.” And turning on his heel, he escaped to find the butler.
Dulcie smiled at Pitt.
“I had no idea he was so shy. What a curious man. But he has been very kind, and surely that is all that can matter.”
Any further private discussion was cut short by various people approaching to offer Dulcie their condolences and to say how fine the service had been, how they had enjoyed the music.
“Yes, young Mr. Garrick is most gifted,” Dulcie agreed. “He plays with more true feeling than anyone else I can recall. Of course I am not equipped to judge his technical skill, but it seems very fine to me.”
“Oh, it is,” Sir James Lismore agreed, nodding, and glancing across the room towards Victor, still sitting with his cello and talking to Mina Winthrop. “It is a pity he does not see fit to take it up professionally,” he continued. “But he is very young and may yet change his mind. He could go far, I think.” He turned to Dulcie. “Aidan certainly thought well of him.”
“Who is the lady with him?” she asked curiously.
He turned. “Oh, that is Mrs. Winthrop. Do you not know her?”
“I cannot recall that we have met. Poor woman. We have much in common, I am afraid. I must offer her my sympathies.” She smiled with twisted amusement. “Mine will be particularly apt, I’m afraid.”
But before she could move to fulfill her words, they were approached by more guests, and she was obliged to murmur polite acceptances and thanks for several more minutes. Charlotte and Pitt excused themselves and moved away to listen and watch from a discreet distance the faces of the other mourners.
They observed Lord and Lady Winthrop standing side by side, speaking very gravely to an elderly gentleman with rimless spectacles on his nose.
“I am most disappointed in the police,” Lord Winthrop was saying with obvious displeasure. “I had thought, considering my son’s reputation, and his service to his country, that they would have made more of an effort to apprehend the madman who committed such a crime!”
“Dastardly,” the elderly gentleman agreed. “Quite dastardly. One expects such things among the lower orders, but when it begins to invade the lives of respectable, even honorable people, the country is in a sad state. I assume you have spoken to the Home Secretary?”
“Of course,” Lord Winthrop said quickly. “Frequently! I have written to the Prime Minister.”
“He has had no reply,” Lady Winthrop said fiercely.
“That is not quite true, my dear,” her husband corrected her, but before he could take it any further, she cut across him again.
“Meaningless,” she said. “All he did was acknowledge that he had read your letters. That is not a reply! He did not tell you what he was going to do about it.”
The elderly gentleman with the spectacles made a clicking sound with his teeth and muttered something inaudible.
Pitt smiled. At least the Prime Minister was not going to be rattled.
The food was served. Footmen and maids moved among the guests with trays of wine and delicacies. All the time the supercilious butler, Scarborough, ordered the proceedings and saw that everything to the minutest detail was perfect.
Charlotte moved away from Pitt and began to observe for herself as much as she was able. She spoke for some
